Happy Holidays: St Patrick's Day Edition
by nekkidboothinc
Summary: Booth and Brennan do some drunken philsophizing about love and marriage post-celebration on St. Patrick's Day. Eighth in the Happy Holidays series.


It had been awhile since Temperance Brennan got drunk. It felt a little strange, she thought, noting her symptoms. Dizziness. Slight euphoria. Flight of thoughts. Lack of coordination. Just a little bit of nausea. _Sort of like being in love, _she thought, and she burst out laughing at the thought, causing her to stumble on the sidewalk a little bit with the effort of both walking and thinking at the same time. Her partner-slash-boyfriend grabbed her elbow to steady her. After she was stable, she playfully jerked away. "Don't touch me," she said, skipping ahead a few steps, although not quite far enough to get lost in the small crowd of other party-goers finishing up their nights.

"You're still mad at me?"

"Yes. Very." It was half right. She _was _mad at him. But not _very._

"Well fine. I'll let you fall down then," he shot back, a crooked smile on his own tipsy face.

"Because a _woman _can't _possibly _stay standing on her own two feet without a _man, _right?" she drew out, walking backwards and pointing at him for a second before realizing how difficult this was and switching back to a normal gait.

"Not when the woman has had about a whole keg of green beer by herself at the bar," he said. She eyed him reproachfully.

"I was merely trying to celebrate the traditions of the holiday. Like you all _told _me to," she replied haughtily. "Even though I am _not _of Irish heritage. Nor am I a big fan of hangovers. Besides, I don't think I was alone in putting a dent in that keg."

He grinned. She got him there.

"Anyway, I _had _to drink to distract myself from your sexist retrick…reter…rhet-o-ric," she sounded out, pushing an index finger into his chest. That very hard, very _male _chest. How far were they from home again? Maybe a half mile? That green "Getting' Lucky" tee-shirt with the winking leprechaun on it _really _needed to be dispensed with as soon as possible.

"It's not sexist rhetoric."

Her eyes turned round and disbelieving. "You called Ange a _liar."_

"That is _not _what I said. I said I was happy that Jack was going to make an honest woman out of her in July."

"Implying that she is _not _honest as an unmarried woman. Nor can _any _unmarried woman be honest."

"Not honest as in _truthful. _Honest as in…living according to God's plan. And like I _said_, it is _just_ a saying!"

Eyebrows raised, she stopped in her tracks, causing him to stumble to a halt as well, questioningly. "Just wait," she said, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her forehead. "I know I'm not _married…_but I think I might be getting some divine inspiration…"

He cocked his head, and then squawked in surprise as she yanked his hand and pulled him into a shadowed corner, out of sight of the other tired revelers. Pushing him against the brick building they were standing by, she kissed him hungrily, tasting Guinness on his tongue and running her hands under that ridiculous tee-shirt to touch the bare skin of his sides. She grinned against his mouth when she felt him instinctively responding to her, his fingers working through her hair and pressing his hips against hers demandingly. He couldn't resist her. Her heart thrilled a little at the thought.

When she finally pulled back, he spoke a little weakly. "I'm pretty sure that God _didn't _make you do that."

"Yes he did. Unless…it was the _devil," _she said, sliding a hand into the back pocket of his jeans and squeezing. "I have a hard time telling the two apart sometimes."

"You shouldn't make fun of my beliefs," he scolded.

"You're right," she agreed, stepping back from him and enjoying his near-groan in disappointment for not having her against him anymore. She pulled him back into view of the streetlights. "Just like you shouldn't discount _my _beliefs by saying things like Angela won't be honest until July."

"Fine," he huffed. "I'm sorry for the _honest _thing. But I still think it's good that they are getting married. There are _lots _of good reasons to get married."

"There are lots of good reasons not to."

He gaped at her. "Well at least let me plead my caaaaaaaase. Maybe it will give you a new perspective. And maybe when I'm done, you will be…you know, happier for Angela and Jack."

She rolled her eyes. He was crazy if he thought he would change her perspective. Silly. Unbalanced. Senseless.

Kind of like being in love.

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Temperance Brennan made him lose his damn mind on a daily basis. When she was around, he was guaranteed to either be insane with love, rage, lust, or confusion. Sometimes, like tonight, they hit him all at once. Maybe he shouldn't have drank that last Irish Car Bomb.

It had all started when Jack had slung his arm around Angela's shoulders and said, "We have something to tell you guys."

Bones had looked at them with a blank stare (that now he figured was probably a combination of blank and drunk) and waited for the news. Seeley had had a pretty good idea what it was going to be. After all, what else could it be? Ange had practically bounced on her barstool, waiting with bated breath for Jack to spill their news. Just as she had appeared about to either burst or bounce through the ceiling, Jack had said "we're getting married! For real this time!"

Angela had launched off the stool, grabbed Bones in a fierce hug, and squealed. "Isn't it _great_, Sweetie?!"

Booth had to give his girl credit. Instead of launching into a diatribe about archaic rituals and sexist ideals, she had just hugged her friend back and congratulated her. "Very great. I'm so happy, Ange. I know how much this means to you."

Booth had dropped a kiss on Angela's cheek and shaken Jack's hand tightly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he would regret them: "Congratulations, man. Glad you're finally making an honest woman outta her."

Jack had laughed and Ange had smiled, slapping him lightly in the chest. "Thanks a lot, Booth. Your support is overwhelming."

Brennan had gone instantly silent. "Bones, I'm teasing her. It's just a saying."

She'd smiled tightly and nodded, but he knew she wasn't impressed and it'd take some acrobatics to get his foot out of his mouth on this one. "So, when?" Booth had asked, taking another slug of his Guiness.

"Assuming we can round up Angie's husband and toss an 'ex' in front of his title, we're thinking July."

"And of course you two will be expected to reprise your roles as best man and maid of honor. Unless you get a wild hair to make it _matron_ by then," Ange teased.

Bones had snorted at that. "I think we're okay how we are."

"You never know, Bren…"

Shortly after that, before Bones _could_ launch into a diatribe about archaic rituals and sexist ideals, Booth had made the suggestion that it had been a long day and maybe they should head for home before all the Irish liquor and green beer started getting the better of the foursome. Now they were a little less than a half-mile from his apartment, and he'd just had the daylights kissed out of him by a very drunk forensic anthropologist. Whom he was now (God help him) trying to reason with.

"C'mon Booth. Plead your case. Tell me all the brilliant reasons why Ange and Jack should get married."

"Okay, okay, now just wait. I know you think I'm going to give you scripture examples and tell you how marriage symbolizes the marriage between Christ and His Church, but honestly? The best reason I can think of to get married is love. And I don't know anyone who loves each other more than Hodgins and Angela."

"What about us?" she pouted.

"You're cute when you're drunk and pouty," he teased, pressing the pad of his thumb against the bottom lip she'd stuck out at him. "And what I _meant_ was that no one loves each other more than Jack and Angela _except_ us. I just figured that was understood."

"Fine. Understood." She looked pacified for a second before her mind drifted back to her task at hand…proving him wrong. "But you don't have to equate love with marriage just because that's what people have traditionally done. Love is a natural human emotion. Marriage is a societally-constructed, patriarchal structure which is abusive to woman."

He nearly choked. "Abusive? You got mad at me for implying Angela was a liar, and now you are calling Jack abusive?"

"It's not their faults. They don't know what I know."

"Which is?" The second he said it, he knew he was going to regret it.

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Oh, the game was _on._Now this was a challenge. And as she typically responded to being challenged, a litany of grad-school facts fell from her lips.

"Empirical research shows that despite the growing trend for both women and men to work outside the home, wives are still expected to do a 'second shift' of cooking, cleaning, and childcare labor once they get home. And the majority _comply _to that expectation. Research shows that the same couples construct myths of equality to make themselves feel better, when the division is _clearly _unfair. Husbands traditionally have more money, prestige, and education than wives, which puts them in the dominant position. Research _also _indicates a downward trend in happiness during marriage. _Especially _once children are born. Probably because then, the division of labor becomes even more pronounced. Marriage is _much _more linked to psychological well-being in men than in women. _And, _when women actually do become pissed off with the unfairness of the whole thing…as they should…they are much more likely to just shut up and tolerate it after they are married. So after being overworked, devalued, and depressed…they are trapped by the very construct that promotes those things."

Brennan was in her element right now. She was winning. How could anyone argue against all of those facts? He couldn't. There was no way. She felt a brief surge of pride at being able to articulate herself so well, even when she was having trouble walking properly.

Until he said the last thing she had expected he'd say.

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It hit him like a ton of bricks. His comatose trip into the jewelry store hadn't been just a fluke. _You stupid sunuvabitch, obviously you want to marry her_. The words coming out of her mouth sounded like empirical, blah blah blah myths of equality blah blah blah sexist blah blah blah. The words running through his mind sounded like marry me marry me marry me marry me. How was it possible they had such opposite ideas about marriage and yet he still wanted nothing more than to build a life with her and his son? _Love._

The shocked expression on her face told him that the word had come out a little more aloud than he'd intended.

"What?" she asked.

"Love," he blurted again.

"What about it?" she eyed him warily.

"Love is the only reason you need to get married. You can argue it with fact upon fact, back it up with empirical evidence until you're blue in the face, but one thing remains," he shrugged. "Love. Maybe Jack and Ange just want to build a life together, not the kind that people do research on, but just be married in whatever way feels right to them, for whatever reason they make of it. Wake up with each other every morning and go to sleep with each other every night. Makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than all that 'myths of equality' stuff."

"Yes, but--" she started to interrupt and he silenced her the best way he knew how, and the way he hoped would work for the rest of their lives: he kissed her. Slow, sweet, really the only thing he did methodically when it came to Temperance Brennan.

She pulled back on a gasp, her eyes darkened to the color of a turbulent ocean. "They--" he kissed her again and she leaned into him, fisting her hands in his tee shirt; tugging him closer more than pushing him away.

"What were you saying?" he asked teasingly.

"I… I… dammit, Booth, I had a point to make, and you… you kissed me stupid!" she sputtered indignantly. And he grinned.

Mission accomplished.

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"_Maybe Jack and Ange just want to build a life together, not the kind that people do research on, but just be married in whatever way feels right to them, for whatever reason they make of it."_

What was he talking about? There were different _ways _to be married? You could make up your own _reasons _to be married? Was that _true? _And if it was, how was that controlled for in all those empirical studies that she had read? Were they invalid? Were they…

One look at his tipsy, smiling self wearing that damn annoying leprechaun tee-shirt, with that damn adoring look in his eyes that made her practically forget her own name…the same way she did when he was kissing her…and she knew that either of them arguing with the other was a lost cause. It didn't matter if they shared beliefs on this topic. They believed in each other.

Rolling her eyes, she took his hand as they worked on the rest of the distance home. Despite her letting this one go, she could not resist one final, parting shot.

"Besides," she said petulantly. "Who's to say it wouldn't be _me _making an honest _man _out of _you?" _

He didn't respond, and she felt satisfied that even though she hadn't won the argument, at least she hadn't lost. She smiled to herself, and in doing so, missed the huge grin on his face that would have told her without a doubt that she had acknowledged the very possibility for which he hoped.

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**A/N: Now. Tell us how much you love us for not only posting on time, but posting EARLY! Go on! We'll wait.**


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